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FUGITIVE POEMS 



BY 



SELMA WARE PAINE 



fuBftARY of CONlfiEsil 

two Copies RBC^ivec; llP'^'^.co.* 
DEC 20i90? » ' -^ ^^' 






1CLASS4 nX' iM 



Copyrighted 1907 

BY 

SELMA WARE PAINE 



IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER 

MARY J. PAINE 

AND FOR MY OWN DEAR CHILDREN 

ALBERT AND MARTHA 

IT IS MY PLEASURE TO GIVE 

PERMANENT FORM TO THESE VERSES 

OF AUNT SELMA 

L. A. C. 
CHRISTMAS 1907 



THE LEGEND OF THE 
MOSQUE OF SAINT SOPHIA 

When Moslem hordes Byzantium sacked 
They everywhere the city racked. 
Not even Saint Sophia stayed 
Their cruel, all destroying raid. 
The sacred walls no shelter gave; 
They rode their chargers up the nave 
And trampled down with iron hoof 
The people gathered 'neath the roof. 
And yet, in spite of startled cry, 
The shout of angry foemen nigh, 
The ring of consecrated stones 
From horses' feet, the dying moans, — 
The priest, who at the altar stair 
Had just begun to chant his prayer, — 
Still chanted on as calmly there 
As of the horrors unaware. 
1 



THE LEGEND OF THE 
MOSQUE OF SAINT SOPHIA 

In tranquil voice, devout and clear, 
With not a shade of haste or fear, 
He said the holy Catholic Mass. 

When closer yet, the horde drew near 
He did not seem to see or hear 
Until they pressed at left and right 
And quenched the candles in his sight ; 
And then he turned to where was spread 
The sacrament. He took the bread, 
He held the wine above his head, 
And with a look sublime that said 
"Christ's servant never yet has fled," 
He walked with firm and equal tread 
The only open way. It led 
To solid minster wall. And lo, 
As once of old the sea did know 
To ope a way for Israel's host 
And close again, the people crossed, 
So now the wall did part in twain. 
Receive the priest and close again. 
While e'en the Moslems paused to hear 



THE LEGEND OF THE 
MOSQUE OF SAINT SOPHIA 

From just behind the walls anear 
A tranquil voice, devout and clear, 
With not a shade of haste or fear 
Repeat the holy Catholic Mass. 

Stern Islam now the minster ruled 
And all the conquered building schooled 
To speak its mandates. Much they burned 
And when they marked the altar turned 
To Christ's Jerusalem its face. 
They tore it rudely from its place 
And made it look to Mecca. Still, 
Listening oft against their will 
The very workmen could but hear 
From just behind the wall anear 
A tranquil voice, devout and clear 
Repeat the holy Catholic mass. 

And yet behind the wails, they say, 
The priest imprisoned, waits the day 
That brings the end of Moslem sway. 
And now at times they hear the tone 



THE LEGEND OF THE 
MOSQUE OF SAINT SOPHIA 

Of his devotions through the stone. 
The legend cries with prophet voice 
"That da}' will come. Let man rejoice! 
And then the walls will part in twain, 
The faithful priest come out again. 
Within his hand will be the bread ; 
He'll hold the wine above his head, 
And climb with firm and equal tread 
The altar stairs, to finish there 
As he began, his chanted prayer. 
In tranquil voice, devout and clear, 
With not a shade of haste or fear, 
He'll end the holy Catholic Mass. 



TO AN INVETERATE DREAMER 

If your castle in Spain were firm on the plain, 

And you dwelt in its beautiful halls; 
If its fountain of youth were playing in truth 

And the light of your dreams on its walls : — 

What then would you do with the hours as they flew 

In your beautiful castle in Spain? 
Alas, you would yearn from the beauty to turn 
To the pleasure of buildmg again 

Another fair castle in Spain, 
Another fair castle in Spain! 



LIMITS 

What are these bounds I cannot overpass, 

As soft as breath, invisible as air, 

And yet as strong as walls of triple brass? 
My effort an}' glorious height would dare, 

My thought, fleet-footed, fear no distant goal, 

Did not the bounds confront them unaware. 
Then thus to me replies the over soul, 

"Behold the rushing waves that seek the strand; 

Each farther up, successive surges roll, 
And prone and unresisting lies the land — 

When lo, the tide is turned, the waves disperse. 

Before each finite power its limits stand. 
It is the order of this universe." 



The order of the universe must be 
To keep us humble to Divinity. 
Lest, ere it has been fired, the clay 
Should to the shaping Potter say 
"I stand alone;" and fall to dust away. 



IF I WERE YOU 

If I were you, if I were you, 
My little child with eyes so blue, 

So love enfolded, free from care. 

Of evil yet so unaware — 
No tear should e'er mine eye bedew. 

I'd dance and sing the daylight through, 
And gather flowerets where they grew, 
As if I knew the time were rare 
If I were you. 

But yet my foolish thought I rue. 

The time were over if you knew. 

With childish years the heart must pair, 
A shattered toy would mean despair 

To break my heart with weeping, too, 
If I were you. 



MY DREAM 

I had a dream, and it was sweet. 

I saw a soul and body part, 

And ere the spirit spread its wings 

To rise in glad etherial flight, 

He turned his radiant face and stooped 

And kissed the body where it lay. 

He had the look of one who sees 
Some precious gift outworn, at last, 
Yet dear to him for memory's sake. 
He did not call it "prison house," 

Nor utter one reproachful word, 
But softly said "It served me well. 
It gave me feet to run m}' ways; 
It gave me hands to work my will; 
It gave me eyes to see with joy 
9 



10 MY DREAM 

The beauty of the outer world 
That holds the meaning of the Lord. 

And as the spirit hovered there, 
His tender reminiscent smile 
Illum-ed the impress he had left 
Upon the pallid face beneath 
Until it, also, seemed to smile, 

A moment thus, and then he spread 
His wings like sister bows of light. 
At first he slowly backward flew 
Then, turning, cleft the upper blue 
And sought the living, left the dead. 



DANTE, LOVER OF THE LIGHT 

"Shall I not everywhere enjoy the light 
Of sun and stars?" In exile, Dante said. 
Who loved the lighted tent the heavens spread; 

Whose friends were luminaries in the height; 

By light, who symboled holiness and right; 
Who made his angels flames and, upward led. 
No greater word could find at heavens head 

For the Eternal than — "One Simple Light." 

Yet Dante this who walks the thoughts of men 
A form of gloomy darkness from the fen 

Of his Inferno's black or lurid night. 
Oh, add the other half that, true and whole, 
His fame may wear the likeness of his soul. 

And call him Dante, Lover of the Light. 



11 



I DARE NOT 

I dare not to dull me with feasting and wine, 
Lest the meaning of music I should not divine; 

Lest beauty go by me, and I unaware; 
Lest fragrance unscented exhale in the air. 

I dare not to tarnish my thinking for fear 
The lilies grow pallid whenever I near. 

I dare not to harbor a hate at my heart 

Lest sunbeams that enter make haste to depart. 

I dare not to load me with doublings so deep, 

No dreams with a blessing would lighten my sleep. 



12 



THE RAREST DAYS. 

The rarest days of all the year, 

When wordless joy my heart beguiles, 

Are those when Spring in Winter's arms, 
New born, awakes and smiles. 

Though still her draping robes of snow 
The Winter regnant seems to wear. 

Behold a miracle! How soft 
Her light, her mist, her air! 

Above the earth, below the sky. 
From far away a sound is heard 

Ethereal as spirit tone — 
It is a herald bird. 

We know, perhaps, that soon again 
The infant Spring her eyes will close: 

13 



14 THE BAREST DAYS 

But we have seen her and are sure 
That while she sleeps, she grows. 

Such days a blissful wonder thrills 
My very being through and through 

To see the grand eternal Old 
Beside the eternal New. 



THE CAPTIVE BROOKLETS 

Beneath a crust at dawn of Spring 
The captive brooklets leap and sing; 
A touch of sun is all they need 
And lo, the prisoned streams are freed. 

Just how the waters feel I know 
For oft my thoughts are leaping so, 
Unuttered, captive and repressed 
Beneath a crust within my breast. 

Oh, then, a smile like touch of sun 
Can bid the loosened torrent run! 
Oh, then, a glance like arctic blast 
Beneath the crust can lock it fast! 



15 



OCTOBER 

October is here, October is here, 
The royally radiant queen of the year! 

Her arches are golden, her tapestries spread; 

Her hands are extended with bounty to shed 
And her smile is a glow from a loftier sphere. 

But what is the whisper assailing my ear? 
October is way to the winter so drear. 
The beautiful Summer is over and sped 
If October is here. 

Be silent, thou omnious whisper of fear, 
If shivering Winter is menacing near, 

By way of the Winter October was led. 

Rejoice in the present before it is fled. 
If Winter is there in the future, the dear 
October is here. 



16 



THE MORNING GLORY 

Oh Morning Glory, happy flower, 
To bloom beloved, your early hour, 

Then softly close your eye; 
And never learn the sun may beat 
His blessing into fiery heat 

Nor feel the darkness nigh. 

A Morning Glory child I knew; 

He bloomed his dewy matin through, 

Then quietly passed away: 
Nor learned how parched the earth may lie 
Nor that the sun deserts the sky 

To bring another day. 



17 



TO THE WOOD PEWEE 

( Who bt'gan to sing his Antiimn song in June.) 

Oh. gentle prophet of the year's decline, 

Why mark so soon the shortening of the days? 

The blooming Summer yet has maiden ways 
And, see, her cheek is roseleaf, fair and fine, 
Her breath is fragrant with the flowering vine. 

Her voice is full and firm with chorused lays. 

Why then your sweet untimely warning raise, 
Your autumn strain with summer song combine? 

And yet an added harmony you bring. 

There is a message in your music laid. 

Could summer song its full perfection reach 
Without a tone from Autumn and from Spring? 
Of present, past and future, life is made 

And what is perfect has a touch of each. 



18 



AN EVENING FANCY 

When heaven holds Orion forth 

No belted hunter it appears; 
It is an instrument of light 

That leads the music of the spheres. 

From Rigel to Betelgeuse strung 
Across the gleaming central three, 

My fancy draws the shining chords 
Too far away for us to see. 

And thence the sweetest numbers swell 
That tune the circling nights and years, 

But all too grand the mighty strain 
To enter in at mortal ears. 



19 



THE JESUIT'S SPRING 
AT MOUNT DESERT 

A little spring, a little spring, 

So light, so slight, so frail a thing! 

A cup of earth the water brims 

Where low the sweeping swallow skims 

A plain by sea and peak begirt 

Upon the shore of Mount Desert! 

A little spring, a little spring. 

So light, so slight, so frail a thing! 

Yet there in ages gone — they say, 
The Indian quaffed — and went away 
The French who sought the island bay 
Took oft a draught — and went away. 
The English came with rulers' sway, 
And daily drank — and went away. 
The atom men of either race 
20 



THE JESUITS SPRING 21 

AT MOUNT DESERT 

Have left behind them not a trace, 
Unless their dust is in the trees 
That deck the mountains by the seas; 
And yet the spring is flowing still 
As fresh as any new born rill, 
And stars in nightly passing o'er 
Salute a sister on the shore, 
And centuries that onward fare 
Familiar greet a comrade there. 

Thou little spring, thou little spring, 
Thou light, thou slight, thou frailest thing, 
Unfixed and formless, changing flow 
Of countless drops that come and go, — 
With power to last is thus endued 
The gentle, yielding, oft renewed; 
While force, defiant, falls a prey 
To foe, to waste, to slow decay. 



WHERE EARTH AND HEAVEN MEET 

See yonder, radiant, soft and still 
The sky is resting on a hill, 
And I will speed with eager feet 
To where the earth and heaven meet. 

I run, I run, till set of sun — 
No nearer I when day is done — 
I run, I run, 'till dawn is gray — 
But heaven is just as far away. 

Wait, little man, nor waste thy breath, 
An angel comes, the angel of death; 
And he will bear thee, strong and fleet, 
To where the earth and heaven meet. 



22 



THE DUAL 



THE EVIL SPIRITS 



The Dual is doubting, Is discord, is combat, 
Unholy, unwhole; Is labor, unrest. 

The Dual is tempter. The Dual is evil 
Disrupting the soul; Defying the blest. 

THE GOOD SPIRITS 

The Dual is union The Dual is music. 

Conjoining aright. Is marriage accord. 

The sun, it is dual With love and with wisdom 

With heat and with light. Is dual the Lord. 

THE ANGELS 

The Dual outgoeth 

And lo, is the trine, 
The one, the eternal, 

The very Divine. 



23 



I AM NOT MY OWN. 

Three things that repose not; 
The river in flowing, 
The coming and going 
Of breathing and heart. 

The river it knows not, 
But, leaping or gliding, 
Obeys to the guiding 
That made it to start. 

My heart and my breathing 
Not needing my heeding, 
So follow the leading 
With which they began. 

I list to the seething 

At night, and the beating; 
24 



I AM NOT MY OWN 25 

"The shuttle is fleeting" 
I say, "with my span, 

Is weaving the veiling 
My spirit is given 
To carry, unriven, 
From cradle to tomb. 

No stitch will be failing; 
I'll lay me to sleeping. 
The Weaver is keeping 
His hand on the loom." 



SUGGESTED VERSES 



Impotent pieces in the game He plays 
Upon this checker-board of nights and days, 

Hither and thither moves and checks and slays 
And, one by one, back in the closet lays. 

The ball no question makes of ayes and noesj 
But right and left as strikes the Player goes 
And he that tossed it down into the Field 
He knows about it all — He knows — He knows. 



O, Thou, who man of coarser earth didst make 
And even with Paradise devise the snake; 

For all the sin wherewith the face of man 
Is blackened, man's Forgiveness give and take. 

The Ruhriyat of Omar Khayyam, 

Who didst with Paradise devise the snake, 
Of man the gratitude unmeasured take 

That with tempter Thou didst give the choice 
To heed or resist him and forsake. 



26 



27 SUGGESTED VEBSES 

For what were life but victory to win, 
Or virtue but the conqueror of sin? 

Or what were light but triumph over dark, 
Or death, but birth to seeds of life within? 

Or what were man, if in an endless round 
Of equal happiness his days were found? 

A babe in arms fed on a pap of bliss, 
Or beast erect in silken fetters bound. 

Aye then, not now, impotent pieces played; 
Aye then, not now, the ball whose course is made. 

Thou who with Paradise didst form the snake 
O'er snake and man Thy love and law are laid. 



TERZA RIMA 

Thou, Terza Rima, never art completed. 

No circled sonnet thou, in one compounding 
Thy sense and music duly mixed and meted, 

Within itself, itself so sweetly rounding. 

Thou rather art a jeweled chain. Behind thee 
Thou ever, though in concord so abounding. 

Dost leave a waiting link of rhyme to bind thee; 
And whereso'er thy lovely way may wander, 
Before, there waits another link to find thee. 

O, Terza Rima, happily I ponder 

How truly thus our tale of life thou chimest 
It, too, awaits completed rhyming yonder 

As time into eternity thou rhymest. 



28 



L'ART POUR L'ART! 

The casket for the casket, 
And not to hold the gem? 

The casket for the ruby, 
The ring, the diadem. 

Yet make it very royal 
And golden if you will; 

But let it shrine a jewel 
More rare and royal still. 

So be your poem, dearest, 
A casket that is wrought 

With noble art of wording 

For gems of love and thought. 



29 



FAME 

Oh, what is fame! 

A sweet acclaim 

When those we love exalt our name, 

Or hear the praise that others raise, 

Or see our bays. 

But what is fame! 

An echo tame, 

Though laurel wreaths our temples frame. 

With those we love no longer near. 

There's none to hear. 



30 



OLD BOOKS 

A thresher prime is father Time, 
When harvest loads his wain 

He beats the hollow husks aside, 
And hoards the golden grain. 

A winnower is father Time, 

The chaff he blows away. 
The sweetened seed he treasures up 

For many a year and day. 

Oh, very wise is father Time, 

His flail is tried and true! 
I love the garnered pile of books 

He's winnowed through and through. 



31 



RONDEL 

DE CHARLES D'ORLEANS 

Le temps a laissi^ son manteau 

De vent, de froidure et de pluie; 

Et s'est vestu de broderie 

De soleil, luisant, cler et beau. 

II n'y a beste ni oiseau 

Qu 'en son jargon ne chante ou crie: 

Le temps a laissi^ son manteau 

De vent, de froidure et de pluie. 

Riviere, fontaine et ruisseau 

Portent en livr^e jolie 

Gouttes d'argent d'or favrerie; 

Chacun s'abille de nouveau. 

Le temps a laissi^ son manteau 

De vent, de froidure et de pluie. 



32 



RONDEL. Translation 

The weather now has laid aside 
Its coat of wind and cold and rain; 
Has clothed itself with robes again 
Embroidered and in sunshine dyed. 
No beast or bird that has not tried 
In its own tongue to sing or plain; 
The weather now has laid aside 
Its coat of wind and cold and rain. 
The fountain, brook and river wide 
To wear a livery are fain 
Of silver drops and jewelled train. 
Each man in new attire has vied. 
The weather now has laid aside 
Its coat of wind and cold and rain. 



33 



SONNET 

Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voj^age, 
Ou, comme cestui la, qui conquit la toison, 
Et puis est retourn^, plein d'usage et raison, 
Vivre entre ses parents le reste de son age! 

Quand revoiray-je, helas! de mon petit village 
Fumer la chemin^e, et en quelle saison 
Revoiray-je le clos de ma pauvre maison 
Qui m' est une province, et beaucoup davantage! 

Plus me plaist le sejour qu'ont basti mes ayeux 
Que des palais remains le front audacieux; 
Plus que le marbre dur me plaist I'ardoise line; 

Plus mon Loire gaulois que le Tybre latin, 
Plus mon petit Lyr6 que le mont Palatin 
Et plus que I'air marin la douceur angevine. 

Joachim du Be II ay 



34 



SONNET. Translation 

How happy is the man whose journey safely ends 
And as Ulysses once, or he that won the fleece, 
Experienced and wise, returns to live at peace. 
The remnant of his age to pass among his friends! 

My little native town, alas," when shall I see 
Its smoking chimneys rise, when shall I look again 
Upon the close that holds my dwelling poor and plain. 
Which all a province is, and more than that,- to me! 

More pleasing is to me my fathers' quiet home 
Than the audacious front of palaces at Rome; 
More pleases me the slate, than the hard marbles do. 

Than Tiber's Latin stream more dear my Gallic Loire, 

My little Lyr6 than Mount Palatin by far 

And more than the sea air the sweetness of Anjou. 



35 



HOME 



TO MOTHER 

Thy life gave light, dear mother, as thy face. 

The love and truth that lit thine eye and brow 

Are like a sun unsetting to me now 
Whose rays illuminate each darkened place, 
And would, within, unworthiness erase, 

And all with light's nobility endow. 

At thought of thee our kneeling spirits bow 
In gratitude to the Celestial Grace. 

Oh, gift of God to man that clearest shows 
Of the Divine Paternal Image trace 

Is parent love. In mother love it grows 

And what it has received anew bestows 
Until it binds by love the human race, — 

And on to heavenly transformation goes. 



39 



DEAR FATHER'S EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY 

Four score, four score! The darling years 

I love them everyone, 
From that which kissed his baby face 
To that which crowns it with the grace 

Of eighty summers' sun; 

And strengthens it with eighty times 

A winter's bracing cold. 
How faint the traces of the care, 
The labor and the sorrow there 

The Psalmist has foretold. 

"What is the mystery," they ask. 

"Why does he not grow old?" 



40 



BEAR FATHER'S EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY 41 

And speak of temperance, a heart 

Of happy cheer, and so a part, — 

A little part, is told. 

They say with nature hand in hand 

He gained her pristine wealth, 

In that he balanced legal toil 

With loving labor on the soil. 

His garden mine of health. 

But still the master mystery 

The words do not define 
For that which drives the shadows hence 
Is his abiding confidence 

In Providence Divine. 

If sorrow rises in his cup. 

He knows it should be quaffed. 

He drinks it, names it not, forgets 

And, hoping unabated, sets 

His lips to sweeter draught. 



42 DEAR FATHERS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY 

Sustaining still his happy home, 

And turning eager glance 
On thoughts and deeds of humankind 
He helps with word and pen and mind 

And joys in man's advance. 

So lightening life for all around 

By humor's happy play, 
And working daily as in youth 
And following his idea of truth 

He goes his blessed way. 

AUGUST i6, 1892. 



THE GOLDEN WEDDING ODE 

The centuries have flown like flocks of birds 
Since Sappho sang her spirit into words, 
And yet the ages waft her message through 
And are the carrier doves from her to you, — 
To you, my darling parents, therefor hear 
What Sappho sends to greet your golden year. 

Oh, learn from voice sublime 

And wonder sweet with time, 
A meaning of this day that holds so much. 
Yes, hear! "Gold is the child of Zeus rust can- 
not touch." 

Let baser metals yield to slow decay; 
The tooth of rust through iron gnaw its way, 
And cutting, cutting, let it blunt the pride 
Of noble steel that cuts for all beside. 
Let lofty bronze record heroic deeds 



43 



44 THE GOLDEN WEDDING ODE 

While greenish rust upon the record feeds; — 

But let the royal gold 

Its own forever hold, 
And guard supreme the symbol's holy use; 
For rust can never touch it. 'Tis the child of Zeus. 

And so when wedded love has golden grown 
No rust can touch it. 'Tis of Zeus the own. 
The stream of years has only washed away 
Whatever dross at first about it lay. 
In furnace fire of life it has been tried, 
And from alloy it has been purified. 

Triumphant as the sun, 

Undimmed, eternal one 
It shines unto the new from out the old, 
From Zeus to New Jerusalem with streets of gold. 

JULY 9, 1890. 



THE PRAYER OF A THIRSTING SOUL 

BY MARY J. PAINE 

The little flower, true to Thy bidding, 
Drinks in at night Thy gift of dew; 

So grant it, Lord, that I, too, waiting 
May fill my soul from Thee anew. 

So help me, Lord, with cheerful trusting 

To do Thy will whate'er it be; 
That I may find my heart, when thirsting, 

Filled with the needed dew from thee. 



EVER LISTENING 

BY MARY J. PAINE 

Listening, listening, ever listening 

For the quiet breathing near; 
For the gentle Voice saying 
"I am here." 



45 



AT MOUNT HOPE 

All loved her. E'en the locust bends 
Above her grave with loving grace: 
And see, a hovering bough descends 
And parts in twain, as hands that bless 
Or strive to touch with a caress 

The name the granite letters trace! 

So tenderly if nature yearns, 

Oh, mother of the heavenly heart. 
Where but thy dust to dust returns, 
How must thou be at home above 
There where the very life is love, — 
For love thou wast and ever art! 

iqo2 



46 



ANEMONE AT MOUNT HOPE 

Full fifty years ago beneath this mound, 
That swells so softly from the sloping ground 
It seems that nature must herself have made, 
The fairest infant of an hour was laid. 

And see, upon the grave the wind flower blows. 
Most delicately exquisite that grows! 
Anemone, no chiseled word could tell 
The story of the little life so well. 

Thou fleeting flower of passage, stainless star 
That strains its stem to ride the wind afar; 
And ever upward turns a longing face 
To greet its kindred stars in upper space! 

How like the soul that left the form below, 
And yet unlike! It had no need to know 
An earthly blooming, and was free to rise 
To meet its angel kindred in the skies. 



47 



AUGUST IN OUR GARDEN 

The air is full of twittering of birds, 
The harsh imperious calling of the young, 
The ceaseless chatter of the swifts on high. — 
The air is full? But hark an undertone 
The swarming of "innumerable bees" 
Around the woodbine blossoms overhead. — 
Yet is the air not full, for now I hear 
The softer murmer of the summer breeze 
Which rises, falls, and yet is ever there. 

And so, methinks, the hearing perfect keen 
Might pierce through underlying depths of 

sound 
And depths and depths, until it reached at last 
The great infolding silence that has held 
The world since time began and still will hold — 
Primeval silence mother of all sound. 



48 



SWEET PEA 

As if you were only alight, 

With pinions of pink and of white 

Outspread for aerial flight, 

Sweet Pea! 

As if, when you found you were tied 
And freedom to fly was denied, 
Your longing in fragrance you sighed 
To be free. 

Yet always alert for a spring 
And buoyant with hope that a swing 
At last might unloosen your wing, 
Sweet Pea. 

And such was a life that I knew; 
As longing and buoyant it grew. 
As fettered and fragrant as you. 
Sweet Pea! 



40 



THANKS TO THE LARCH 

Like a syncopated music 

Oh, my Larch, how sweet the way 
Thou dost bear October's golden 

Into the November gray! 

For it is by lappings over 

Bridging change to sight and sound, 
That we pass in circled rhythm 

Through the year's unbroken round. 



60 



HOME 

I stood beneath Saint Peter's mighty dome 
And called myself too happy that at last 
My living feet had come where in the past 

My wistful longings oft had flown from home; 

That fair as fancy pictured her was Rome 
Her flower of art as beautiful and vast; 
That with the feelings that my dreams forecast 

I now could read the world's historic tome. 

I called myself too happy — but my thought 
(So quickly that I had no time to chide) 
E'en at this hour of fortune's utmost grace, 
From all the beaut}' round me sprang aside 

My distant home beyond the ocean sought 
To rest upon a dear remembered face. 



61 



TO A VERY HAPPY CHILD 

Oh, happy baby boy, 

In verse could you express 
One half your perfect joy. 

Your radiant happiness, 
All poems ever made 

By any bard of old 
Beside that verse of yours 

Would be but poor and cold. 

Oh, happy baby boy, 

If you could put in songs 
One half the perfect joy 

That to your smile belongs, 
The masters of the world, 

From Palestrina down 
Would to your melodies 

Award the victor's crown. 



52 



TO A VERY HAPPY CHILD 63 

Could singer take a draft 

From out that well of joy 
You drink from every day, 

Oh, happy little boy, 
And could he, also, be 

Endued with highest power 
To sing it truly — then — 

Aye, in that very hour 
The listening world would lie, 

Enraptured, at his feet, 
Holding breath to hear 

A strain so heavenly sweet. 



BIRTHDAY GREETING 

Twenty-one. Twenty-one! 
Something ended, something done, 
Something only just begun! 
Smile upon it, rain and sun. 

For we watch it, and we love it 
And we dream it fruited o'er. 
And we say "May heaven bless it 
From the root to seeded core!" 



54 



BIRTHDAY SONG 

To tune of Auld Lang Syne 

Each kindly friend, your singing lend, 

The new is at the door: 
For every birthday is a birth 

Beginning living o'er. 

Beginning living o'er, my friends, 

Beginning living o'er! 
For every birthday is a birth 

Beginning living o'er! 

But do not yet the past forget; 

Before he turns and hies. 
Say "Leave your lesson, friend" — and lo, 
He blesses ere he flies. 

He blesses ere he flies, my friend , 

He blesses ere he flies! 
Say, "Leave your lesson friend," and lo, 
He blesses ere he flies. 
55 



56 BIRTHDAY SONG 

For what is best must bear the test 

Of old and new combined. 
The old must give the seed; the new 
The ray, the rain, the wind. 

The ray, the rain, the wind, my friend; 

The ray, the rain, the wind. 
The old must give the seed, the new 
The ray, the rain, the wind. 

Then singing, we will sow the seed 

Together, comrades mine; 
And hope the years will grow for us 

A strong and fruitful vine; 

A strong and fruitful vine, my friends, 
A strong and fruitful vine; 

And hope the years will grow for us 
A strong and fruitful vine. 

NEW YEAR, 1897. 



A PRAYER 

Oh, give us, Lord, the open mind 
To welcome truth whate'er it be; 

But vision keen to separate 
The error that is not of Thee. 

And give us, Lord, the open heart 
For high and lowly, slave and free; 

But keep it closed to any love 
Not in accord with that to Thee. 

And give us. Lord, the open soul. — 
What most it needs we cannot see, 

But make it from obstruction clear 
A channel for the life from Thee. 



59 



SINGING PRAISE ALWAYS 

And shall I praise Thee only where 

I see Thy blessings smile, 
And not where altered blessings wear 

Misfortune's mien awhile? 

Oh, no: for praise can pierce disguise 
And praise can understand. 

And praise can feel the love that lies 
In sorrow's clasping hand. 

And praise has found the true relief 
And knows the golden lore; 

However great the cause for grief. 
For gratitude is more. 

And resignation well can bear 
And prayer can lift on high, 
60 



SINGING PRAISE ALWAYS 61 

But praise can better change our care 
And make it fructify. 

Then praise the Lord with thought and deed 

Nor wait till blessings call 
For those we neither hear nor heed 

May be the best of all. 



"I shall be satisfied when I awake With Thy likeness." 

(Psalm xvii: 15.) 

When I awake; ah, yes, when I awake! 
For now I wander in a troubled dream 
Among deceitful shows that only seem 

To be the goods whose borrowed forms they take. 

And so I follow wealth as it would slake 
My longing; — good report, as if a beam 
Of praise could light my darkness; — beauty's gleam 

As it were saving grace, — till I awake. 

Then open. Lord, these eyes so slumber-tied 
That I may see by truth's revealing flame 
What baffles any skill at words to name; 

The purest joy to deep content allied, 

The ecstasy that can with calm abide, 

That has Thy likeness and is satisfied. 



62 



"Blessed are ye that sow beside all Waters.' 
Isaiah xxxii: 20. 



What is the part of man? To sow. 
He cannot make the harvest grow. 
A little he can tend the seed, 
And here and there remove a weed. 
'Tis God that gives the sun and rain 
The flower, the fruit, the seed again. - 
And yet whate'er the harvest yield 
To man the produce of the field. 

And in myself as small my part; 
I did not start my beating heart; 
I watch my breathing come and go; 
I cannot make it fast or slow. 
I feel the life within me swell, 
But how it works I cannot teU. 
63 



64 



And yet for me these forces blend, 
The strength is mine to use and spend. 

Then help us, Lord, the fields to sow 

Without, within, where waters flow. 

If full or scant the harvest be 

The fruit of deeds we leave to Thee 

Nor send to count our profits o'er 

A dull anxiety before. 

If others reap where we have sown 

We glean from harvests not our own. 

Thou askest not from arid plain 
The model sheaf of ripened grain; 
Of feeble powers Thou askest naught 
Of perfect deed, of wisest thought, 
And knoweth well Thy guardian eye 
When barrens only fallow lie. 
And when the tardy seeds await 
The fitting hour to germinate. 



THE LORD GAVE THE WORD 



"The Lord gave the word; great was the 
company of them that published it." 

Psalms Ixviii : 1 1 . 



The Lord gave the Word; 
The life of man, the lettered writ, 
From day to day, they publish it; 
The circling world, the little flower, 
They publish it from hour to hour. 

The Lord gave the Word; 
The wrath of man, the powers of ill. 
They publish it against their will. 
Then publish it, each conscious heart. 
Be of its working, conscious part. 
The Lord gave the word. 



65 



THE CHAPEL IN THE HEART 

Thrice blessdd is the man who keeps, 

From other things apart, 
A secret room, a holy place, 

A chapel in his heart. 

For there, when all the world without 

Grows dark upon his sight, 
He may retire and find within 

His chapel full of light: 

And there, when jangling sounds of earth 

Fall discords on his ear. 
He can repair and, undisturbed, 

The eternal music hear: 



60 



THE CHAPEL IN THE HEART 

And there he hastens, when the world 

Loud praises, to confess, 
With sad and true humility, 

His own unworthiness: 

And there, when with a golden snare 
Temptation hems his way. 

He quickly turns, with trembling lips 
And bated breath to pray. 

Thrice blessed is the man who keeps 

From other things apart. 
This sacred room, this holy place, 

This chapel in his heart. 



A SONG IN THE NIGHT 

At dead of night my little bird, 

My prisoned bird of bounded wing, 

By some infrequent feeling stirred, 
A sudden song will sing. 

I think it lightly sleeps the while, 
For slumber seems to sift away 

The shriller tones that would beguile 
In its diurnal lay. 

And he who lies awake and spins 
A web of care, must stop to mark 

What charm the smitten silence wins, 
How tender grows the dark; 

And recognize, although annoy 

Or care, or grief the heart immerse, 

A great simplicity of joy 
Is in the universe. 



68 



RANDOM THOUGHTS 

Do not disdain the royal wine although 
From vessel coarse of earthenware it flow: 
Nor scorn the truth, whatever it may be, 
From any lips that offer it to thee. 



The body's role; 

To serve the soul. 

If it usurp and master — 

What disaster! 



If the soil of the soul is fallow and fit, 
The suitable seed will be wafted to it. 



"Which love is the better the old or the new?" 
The question is strange. As every morn 
The freshness and beauty of earth are reborn 
69 



RANDOM THOUGHTS 

■ aim of the air, in the light, in the dew;- 
very morning, the old love is new. 



Perfect joy has aftermath, 

Utilizing its excess. 
When in conscious quietude 

Rapture rests to happiness. 



The face that here belongs to me 
Everyone but me can see. 
Have I other things my own 
That to all but me are known? 



Who ties a knot and thinks thereby 
How he the knot at need untie; 
Who, when he lights a fire provides 
To check it, if it overrides; 
Who, angry, recognizes it 
And quickly uses curb and bit; — 
He does not lose in life the race 
By backward steps he must retrace. 



BANBOM THOUGHTS 71 

TEARS 

The tears of grief are tempest streams 
That scar the beaten earth with seams; 
Or tears of grief are clearing showers. 
The tears of joy refresh the flowers. 
The tears that noble actions start 
Unfold a rainbow in the heart. 



A grief did Youth betide, 

He rent his garments, weeping sore 
And laid him in the dust and cried 

"I never shall be happy more." 

A sorrow came to Age 

He slowly bowed his stricken head 
As do the winds when tempest rage, 

"This, too, will pass awa)^" he said. 



Freest things in earth and sky 
Birds and thoughts unfettered fly 
Swiftly sweeping, low and high, 
Fleetly fleeting far and nigh. 



72 RANDOM THOUGHTS 

Give me thoughts that upward spring 
Like the birds that soar and sing 
And to earth on homeward wing 
Strength and joy from heaven bring. 



JUST ENOUGH 

Between Too Little and Too Much 
Just Enough suspended swings 

If we give it but a touch 

Lightly backward, forward springs. 

Yet, undaunted by rebuff, 
Hope is always trying still 

To catch and hold the Just Enough 
And believes at last she will. 



SQUIBS 



THE SONG OF SUNDRY FREETRADERS 

"Ah, fredome is a nobill thing," 

As well the poet sang of old; 
And trade should be as free as air. 

This is the principle I hold. 
By name and by conviction free, 

A staunch freetrader will I be: — 
But — kindly Congress — just for me 

Protect m}^ little Industrie. 

If freedom is a noble thing 

Exceptions prove the rule they say, 
To prove so good a rule I will 

The part of an exception play. 
Free trade, free trade for each and all 

Who live upon this earthly ball 
But — kindly Congress — just for me 

Protect mj little Industrie ! 



75 



LIGHTNESS OF HEART 

Lightness of Heart! Lightness of Heart! 
Why have you left me, Lightness of Heart? 
In the morning of life we were seldom apart, 
You and I, Lightness of Heart. 
But now I must call you and bid you to stay, 
And often I call when you do not obey. 
Why do you leave me. Lightness of Heart? 

Then Lightness of Heart, pirouetting, replies; 
"I am merry and thoughtless. I cannot abide 
The dull afternoon and the evening tide 
With its thronging of thoughts for the future 

and past, 
With its loving and longing for all that will last. 
There's a Gladness of Spirit, serene and more wise, 
Who is friendly to sunset and stars in the skies; 
I am fair, but they say she is fairer than I. 
Call her. I dance to the sunset. Good-bye." 
'*Oh, Lightness of Heart!" — I sigh — 
And turn to the beautiful sunset. "Good-bye." 



76 



THE DIFFERENCE 

There was a man, there was a man 

Who hated meddling so, 
He saw his neighbor's house burn down, 
And closer drew his dressing gown 

And let the building go. 

There was a man, there was a man 

Who always lent a hand. 
Whate'er his neighbor did, he'd try 
To have a finger in the pie. 

They drove him from the land. 

An old Diogenes remarked 

The difference to hit 
Twixt meddling when you do no good 
And bravely helping when you should, 

Requires a pretty wit. 



77 



THE BEAUTY LOVING MR. LEE 

There was a young American, 

His name was Mr. Lee, 
He went to Europe on a tour, 

The wonders for to see. 

He visited the famous spots 

And many a foreign view: 
He stood before the Stauerbach, 

It was the thing to do. 

And "Oh!" he cried in ecstacy 

And "Ah!" he cried in bliss, 
"A happy land is Switzerland 

To own a fall like this!" 

But when he turned him home and sought 
America once more, 
78 



THE BEAUTY LOVING MR. LEE 79 

He found his purse was very thin, 
And he lamented sore. 

He pondered on the swiftest way 

His pockets to refill; 
Decided near Niagara Falls 

To build a mighty mill. 

And when its screaming whistle joined 

In great Niagara's roar 
And awed the smaller mills that rose 

Along the littered shore, 

He felt his pockets swell and cried 

"I soon can go, 'tis plain. 
To slake my thirst for beauty at 

The Stauerbach again." 



THE TEASING TYRANT 

I cannot clip the wings of fancy, 
So she flutters where she will; 

Brings me tales of fair Elysium, 
And I listen, listen still. 

Till my soul arises; "Fancy, 
What you tell me is not true." 

"I never said it was," she chuckles, 
And is off to pastures new. 

She will come again, — I know her, — 

Sweetly lying as before. 
And my soul will sit and scorn me 

While I listen as of yore. 



80 



INDEX 




An Evening Fancy .... 


19 


A Pkayeb ..... 


59 


At Mount Hope, All Loved Her 


46 


At Mount Hope, Anemone 


47 


A Song in the Night .... 


68 


August in our Garden 


48 


Birds and Thoughts .... 


71 


Birthday Greeting .... 


54 


Birthday Song ..... 


55 


Blessed are ye that Sow 


68 


Dante ...... 


11 


Ever Listening ..... 


45 


Fame ...... 


30 


Father's Eightieth Birthday 


40 


Home ...... 


51 


I Dare Not ..... 


12 


If I Were You ..... 


8 


I am not My Own . , . . 


24 


I Shall be Satisfied .... 


62 


Jesuit's Spring ..... 


20 


Just Enough ..... 


72 


L'Art pour L'Art .... 


29 


Legend of the Mosque of Saint Sophia 


1 


Lightness of Heart . , . . 


76 


Limits ...... 


6 


Morning Glory .... 


17 



82 



INDEX 



83 



My Dream ..... 

OCTOBEK ...... 

Old Books ..... 

Random Thoughts .... 

Rondel — ry Charles d'Orleans 

Rondel — by Charles d'Orleans — Translation 

Praise Always ..... 

Sonnet — by Joachim du Bellay 

Sonnet — by Joachim du Bellay — Translation 

Suggested Verses 

Sweet Pea 

Tkrza Rima 

Thanks to the Larch 

The Beauty-Loving Mr. Lee 

The Captive Brooklets 

The Chapel in the Heart 

The Difference 

The Dual 

The Golden Wedding Ode 

The Lord Gave the Word 

The Order of the Universe . 

The Prayer of a Thirsting Soul 

The Rarest Days 

The Song of Sundry Freetraders 

The Teasing Tyrant 

To A VERY Happy Child 

To the Wood Pewee 

To AN Inveterate Dreamer . 

To Mother 

Where Earth and Heaven Meet 



9 

16 
31 
69 
32 
33 
60 
34 
35 
26 
49 
28 
50 
78 
15 
66 
77 
23 
43 
65 

7 
45 
13 
75 
80 
52 
18 

5 
39 
22 



DEG 20 ii. 



